She Was Finn's Girlfriend
by justametaphor
Summary: Maybe she shouldn't have texted him and maybe he shouldn't have brought wine coolers, but she did, and he did, and now what's going to happen?


Puck sat in his truck outside her house. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Okay, no, this most definitely was not a good idea but he really didn't give a fuck. When Quinn Fabray texts you asking if you want to hang out you don't ask questions, you just say yes. So yeah, she was Finn's girlfriend, but she was also the hottest girl Puck had ever seen and she wasn't used to hearing the word no- just saying it- and it wasn't like anything was gonna happen because she was Finn's girlfriend.

His hand hesitated over the wine coolers he'd lifted from the refrigerator in his basement, he was pretty sure his mom wouldn't notice that they were missing but Quinn hadn't asked him to bring anything- it might look a little weird to show up with alcohol. Like he was trying to get her drunk or something. Which he definitely wasn't- she was Finn's girlfriend.

He grabbed the bottles and got out of his truck. He had no idea what Quinn wanted to do but he figured booze could only make it better. He rang the doorbell of her ridiculously pristine house and waited. She opened the door maybe 5 seconds later. She wasn't smiling. He lifted the wine coolers to show her. Her lips twitched. She motioned for him to come in and he followed her to a room with a big TV and brown leather couches. She sat on one. He sat on another one. She turned on the TV and they both took a bottle. It wasn't until he'd finished half of his and she'd finished all of hers and was reaching for a second- damn could she put it away- that she said anything. It almost made him start to laugh that he'd been there a solid 15 minutes or so and they hadn't said a word to each other.

"So what took you so long to get here?" it came out in her normal tone, bitchy and condescending and asked very pointedly, as if he'd calculated how long he should wait before coming over to make her pissed off.

"Sorry Fabray but my world does not revolve around you. I had shit to do. I don't just jump because you tell me to." He didn't look at her when he said it, just to drive down the point.

She didn't answer him for a really long time. Like 30 minutes. They just sat there, drinking and watching TV, when she said, "Fuck you."

"Excuse me? I didn't quite catch that." What the fuck was she doing? She asks him here, doesn't talk to him, drinks his wine coolers and then just insults him?

"Fuck you Puck." She stood up, and swayed a little bit. Then he realized she'd had four wine coolers. So it explained why her insults were sudden but not why she was insulting him in the first place.

Puck stood up to prepare to either storm out or fight her. No one just insults Noah Puckerman and gets away with it, not even Quinn Fabray. In standing up Puck realized that he was pretty drunk. The room spun around him, so maybe he was more than pretty drunk. Damn, there was no way he could drive like this.

"Very Christian of you Quinn; I'm sure the pope would approve." His words were a little slurred.

So were hers. "I'm not even Catholic!" and she threw a pillow at him.

It was so ridiculous; everything that was going on. Puck didn't know if he could handle it. He stepped forward. He was just testing to see if he could walk all right (he thought he could) but Quinn thought he was stepping toward her.

"What're you doing?" her words were still slurred.

"Nothing. I'm gonna leave." He walked forward, past her, but she grabbed his wrist.

"No! Don't!" she sounded really panicked. Then in a much more even tone, "You're way to drunk to drive. At least let me make you some coffee. And maybe you should eat something…"

Quinn started to head off toward the kitchen, but she couldn't make it. She wobbled but tried to carry on. She grabbed the wall and tried to keep going. But she just sunk to the ground. She didn't get up.

Puck figured he should probably help her up but he tripped on his way towards her. So there they were, on the ground of her den, in her big pristine house, the TV blaring. Here he was, drunk, and confused, and on the ground, laughing, with a very hot girl he'd known forever. There she was, drunk, and sad (it was so clear he didn't know why it hadn't registered until now), and on the ground with him, laughing. Her blue sundress had ridden up a little, but not enough to show Puck anything, and her blonde hair was splayed out around her head and even while she was laughing (why were they even laughing?) she looked sad.

They still lay on the floor after they'd stopped laughing at him falling all over himself. His voice sounded so foreign in this room. "Why'd you say 'fuck you' to me?" Puck felt like the question reverberated around the room as he waited for Quinn's response.

"I don't know. Why did you bring wine coolers?"

"Because I like alcohol, and I thought you might too," no one could say Puck wasn't honest. "Why did you invite me over?" He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked over at her. She mimicked his motion.

They're faces were very close all of a sudden and as she said, "Why did you come over?" he could feel the breath on his face and smell the alcohol in it.

"Because," he smiled, "you're Quinn Fabray." It was the truth.


End file.
